


All and Nothing

by takethisnight_wrapitaroundme



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Mortal, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Bedwarmer, Blow Jobs, Come Swallowing, Consent Issues, Dom/sub, Dubious Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Grief/Mourning, I Can't Believe I Wrote This, I can't help it I love Booker's wife so much, I'd say send help but instead can everyone write more dom!Booker fics please, I'm obsessed with dom!Booker and it's time I came clean about it, Interracial Relationship, Nile is willing but not obviously so, No Kink Negotiation, Oral Sex, POV Booker | Sebastien le Livre, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Power Imbalance, Rough Oral Sex, Royalty, Sex Work, Submissive Nile Freeman, Wet & Messy, alternate title was 'No Remedy for Memory' but I'll probably use that for another Book/Joanna fic, author is a grade-a certified slut for royalty tropes, dom!Booker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-15 15:20:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29438148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/takethisnight_wrapitaroundme/pseuds/takethisnight_wrapitaroundme
Summary: Booker returns to his bedroom late in the evening to find a stranger already there, waiting for him to arrive.
Relationships: Booker | Sebastien le Livre/Nile Freeman
Comments: 11
Kudos: 51
Collections: Book of Nile Collection!





	All and Nothing

**Author's Note:**

> It is embarrassing the way my brain now thinks exclusively in kinkmeme prompts. I was trying to go to sleep the other night when the phrase _Nile/Booker, bedwarmer to the king_ popped into my head… and then I stayed up until 2 AM writing this on my cell in the dark.
> 
> As you’ll see from the tags, I’m trying out some new things here. I’m pretty nervous about this fic and have consequently been putting off publishing it for ages. But it can’t sit forever, and I’ve put way too much work into it, so here we go. As is my wont: tonsorial headcanons for [Nile](https://64.media.tumblr.com/d25426a980e36932abd9c351622e9a6d/c87bdb01ede04b3c-19/s540x810/e13dcd691a97340f681e697c9d8f180954ac0ca2.png) and [Book](https://hdwallsource.com/img/2017/2/matthias-schoenaerts-wallpaper-59291-61076-hd-wallpapers.jpg) in this fic.

There was a girl in his room.

She looked young, younger than most of the whores they sent to him. She was standing off to the right as he came in, and she dropped to a low curtsy the moment he crossed the threshold. The obeisance lost some of its usual weight, though, given that she was barefoot and standing there in nothing but a shift, but he had long ago gotten used to such a sight.

As the doors were pulled shut behind him, he came to a stop in the middle of the room and watched her face closely as she rose, taking part in his customary evaluation. The bold ones liked to meet his gaze as they straightened up. They knew what the sight of them bent down low like that did to him, and they always played it to their advantage. Once, a blonde with an Occitan accent even went so far as to lick her lips while holding his eye. He could’ve had her whipped for the disrespect, but instead he kept her in his bed for a few months, until her perpetual lasciviousness became tiring.

This new one, it seemed, was shy.

She did not glance his way as she straightened up, and even as he stood there staring at her, she did not once give in to the pressure and look over. She kept her eyes lowered and her head slightly bent and it didn’t matter how many people prostrated themselves before him, the sight always gave him satisfaction. It was just about the only thing that did these days.

He took a few steps closer to inspect her. He wondered how many men of his household she’d fucked on her way to his rooms. It was rare for girls to arrive before him untested, he knew that. He came within inches of her, but still she did not move so much as a muscle in acknowledgment.

“Look at me,” he commanded.

She did so immediately, lifting her head and staring him full on in the face as he stared back. Her face held no expression—nor even a hint of one. He searched for the beginnings of a grimace, for the flash of nervousness in her eyes, but there was nothing. No disgust, no anxiety, no excitement, nothing. Just a girl standing there, waiting for orders from her sovereign.

She didn’t look so young now that he was close enough. With her face upturned, she was only half a head shorter than him, which was hardly a difference at all between men and women. Her eyes were hard to read in the candlelit room, and he did not bother to try. Her skin was smooth and clean and dark. Her face was like a well-set gemstone, equal on all sides and perfectly rounded at the edges.

She was beautiful.

They were all beautiful.

And he was not in the mood.

He hadn’t been, for months, and that of course was the reason she was here. He thought about sending her away, but he’d sent away the last dozen or so girls, and he couldn’t get away with it forever. Maybe, he thought, she could just stand there in the corner while he slept. Give them both a night of peace. But no, that wouldn’t work. His private habits were being watched as much as his public ones, and he knew the moment she left this room she’d be reporting to someone in the royal household. He didn’t need another lecture about marriage, or another rumor circulating about how he was on the verge of following Joanna into an early grave if he spent one more night alone.

There was no solution except to let her do what she had come here for.

He peered a little closer at her face. He took it back; she really _did_ look young, even up close. The sight of her was starting to give him a headache, and so he turned away. He wasn’t sure when he’d gotten so old that the mere presence of youth infuriated him.

_Joanna._

With his back to the girl, he brought a hand to his eyes, squeezing hard as if pain were a weapon against pain. He came to a stop just a few feet from the bed, a thought occurring to him even as he told himself to get the thing done with already. He turned back to face her.

“Not a virgin, are you?”

Every once in a while they sent him virgins, and he sent them right back. He didn’t much like them, and never had. The fear in their eyes always ruined the pleasure, and he preferred women who could at the very least fake their enjoyment in a convincing manner.

Still standing where he’d left her, the girl’s head was bent again. As she spoke to the floor, he found himself wanting her to look him in the eye.

“No, Your Majesty.”

Sometimes they lied, and said what they thought he wanted to hear, but he believed her. There was not a moment of hesitation in her answer, and though she avoided his gaze, he knew now it was out of deference and not fear. And despite her youth she did, he had to admit, seem sturdier than the others. More disciplined. He’d never met anyone who could keep their face so clear for so long while in his presence.

It made him wonder if she’d be able to keep up the detached façade while he fucked her.

His hands went to the front of his breeches, working quickly through the ties. He could feel that familiar stirring of arousal in his stomach, so long dormant, and he fisted himself a few times, finding his rhythm. He kept his eyes on her face as he did so, but her gaze was planted firmly on the stone floor beneath them. Either she knew better than to rise to his dare or she was simply so well practiced at her trade that the sound of a man—even a king—touching himself did not elicit the smallest bit of curiosity.

He wanted it to be the former, but he knew it was the latter. He tightened his grip, slowing his strokes as he reached full hardness.

“You know what to do with this?”

She glanced up only far enough to his waist, and nodded. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

“Then come here and do it.”

She crossed the room without another word, and he watched her with bated breath. His heart was beating faster now, the earlier exhaustion having melted away in a haze of desire. He took his hand away as she neared, letting his cock stand hard and free.

She dropped to her knees at once, none of that one-knee-then-the-other business, and just that sight alone was more stimulating than anything he’d done to himself in weeks. She set to her task like the work it was, taking him in deep right from the start. He swore at the sensation, having expected more buildup. It took all his willpower not to let his head tip back and his eyes fall closed.

He wanted to watch this. He wanted to remember it.

He wanted her to open her goddamn eyes and look at him while he fucked her mouth.

She didn’t. She kept her eyes closed as she moved her mouth up and down his shaft. She sucked him in deep, hollowing out her cheeks and breathing hard through her nose with the effort of keeping suction with her lips. He watched her chest heave with each short, shallow breath, and he wished he’d told her to strip first. He knew her breasts would be small, but he wanted to see them. Touch them. Fuck them.

“Yes,” he hissed suddenly, feeling his cock hit the back of her throat. “There. Right _there."_

His hips jerked forward instinctively, but she didn’t choke. She moved with him, leaning back before moving forward again, and in a minute they fell into a rhythm as he began thrusting more regularly. She kept her hands on her own thighs as he fucked her mouth, but he saw with satisfaction that despite her best efforts, she couldn’t keep her fingers from twitching. He smirked. Nice to see he had an effect on her after all, even if it was exceedingly minor.

Through it all, she refused to look up. He could order her to, and he knew by now that she would obey, but something stopped him. Half of him wanted to command her to do every filthy thing he could think of—and the other half of him wanted her to _choose_ to do those things, all of her own accord. She never would, he knew that, but what did that matter when she was taking his cock so well?

He groaned aloud as she swallowed around him. Her mouth was so warm and wet and he could hear the sloppy sounds of his cock as it moved in and out and in and out. She was doing her best to keep pace with him as he fucked her, but he could see the saliva spilling over the edges of her lips. It dribbled down her chin and onto her shift, and he had to close his eyes, it was all too much.

But just as quickly he opened them again, unwilling to go without the sight of her for even a moment. He let his gaze fill with her, knowing the end would be coming soon. Her jaw was open so wide he knew it must be aching. Her knees, too. She would’ve bruised them, dropping to the stone floor like she had for him. And yet she hadn’t winced or paused or shown even a second’s discomfort. The realization made his stomach clench; he knew it was not devotion, but it was close enough. He wanted to test how far it would go.

He took her head in his hands, sliding his fingers through her plush, cloudy hair before gripping the back of her skull with his fingertips.

“Take it,” he grunted, holding tight onto her head as he thrust his hips harder into her face.

He expected to feel her pull back against the manhandling, but she submitted as ever, following his lead as he upped the pace, hitting the back of her throat again and again and again. He was grunting with every thrust, keeping up a continuous refrain as he felt her throat constrict around him. He pushed in harder every time, not knowing anymore if he was chasing his climax or her breaking point.

When he closed his eyes, he could see them in the throne room. Him, atop his royal seat in all his regalia. Her, naked at his feet, swallowing down his cock with the entire court watching.

He was relieved she could not see into his mind. His imaginings were vain and pathetic, but then—weren’t everyone’s? He let the fantasy consume him as he bore down on her one final time.

“Take it, take it, _fucking take it for me, yes!"_

He came with a shout, spilling into her mouth as he clutched her head tight between his hands. He could hear her choking around his cock and come, but he didn’t let up. By the time he opened his eyes, she had recovered and was dutifully swallowing down what hadn’t already shot to the back of her throat.

He stared down at her, and he wanted so badly to wrap a hand around her throat and _feel_ her swallow him, _feel_ her take him inside, but he couldn’t seem to let go of her head. Her hair was so very soft under his fingertips, and he could feel a slick sheen of sweat on her scalp. She certainly had worked for it, he’d give her that.

As she swallowed, her throat contracting around his cock and milking it for every last drop, he threw his head back and groaned, heaping curses on every saint he could think of. Joanna used to always pinch him whenever he took their hallowed names in vain, and even now, he felt himself bracing for a pain that wouldn’t come. Twenty years of marriage, four children, a nation under their rule—and _still_ she did not like to hear her royal husband invoke the saints when they brought each other pleasure. He laughed to himself, for once floating on a memory instead of drowning in it.

He felt _good._

No, he felt delirious. He _must_ be delirious. When was the last time he’d been able to think of her without wanting to die?

He straightened his head, casting his eye around the room in thought. And then he remembered the girl at his feet and he shoved her off, tucking himself back into his breeches as he stepped away. He ran his right hand through his hair and then down over his face. He clenched his left into a fist, tucking his thumb beneath his first two fingers to rub the ring that still rested on the third. Strictly speaking, the ring should be in the earth, buried with the wife it had once tied him to. Marriage ended at death, or so the Church and the courts said.

But not for him.

He refused to be parted from this last relic of her, and so he wore it still, and refused all talk of marrying again. Joanna had been in the ground for years now, all their children with her, but he couldn’t let go and there was not one person on this earth capable of compelling him to do so.

All that was left was him, trying to fuck his way to some kind of peace in the absence of anything in the world that truly mattered.

When he turned around, the girl was still on her knees where he’d left her. She didn’t seem to have moved at all. Her shift was wet down the front from where saliva had dribbled out of her mouth as she’d serviced him, and he felt a latent thrill of arousal, knowing she’d been so full of his cock she couldn’t have stopped the mess if she’d wanted to. She even had some left on her face—there was a smear of his release just below her lip. He stared at her and wondered if she knew it was there or not.

He thought briefly of making her leave like this, stained with his come and her own drool, so everyone would know what they’d done. But she was already marked in her own way, he was sure. Whores were never hard to spot at court, no matter how prettily they dressed or how deeply they bowed. They were always set apart from everyone else, their stations bought with something even cruder than gold. Besides, it was late. No one would see her when she left but the guards, and they all knew what she was already.

He walked back to her side and squatted down, reaching out with his thumb to brush the white residue away. But before he could draw his hand back, her tongue darted out and curled around his thumb, licking it clean. He froze, startled, not sure what that was for or what it meant. He looked to her face only to find her eyes averted as usual.

But he could swear that her avoidance was more coy now than deferential. Was she playing with him?

He was tempted to hike up her shift and slide a hand between her legs to see if she was wet, but the fear of finding her dry put him off. Better to hope than to know.

He stood up, commanding her to do the same.

She got to her feet a little shakily, and even with his mind half-gone, he could enjoy the sight of her struggling. He was not usually so rough with the girls who were brought to him, especially not the first time, but he liked seeing this one weakened, he had to admit. It made him wonder if she’d have to step gingerly after he fucked her all night. His cock gave a half-hearted twitch at the thought of making her so sore.

She must’ve seen it, because when he ordered her again to look at him, he could see the question there in her eyes.

_Don’t you want more from me?_

The answer, of course, was yes. He wanted more right now. But he also desperately needed sleep, and for the time being, sleep was winning out.

He looked at her, taking in her flushed cheeks and hard nipples, which were visible against the thin fabric of her shift. He thought about tasting her before he sent her away, but he knew once he started, one thing would lead to another and he did not trust himself to perform well under these circumstances.

Which brought him back to her.

“You will be here tomorrow evening,” he told her.

She bowed her head. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

He tipped his chin at the door. “Get out.”

She dipped into a deep curtsy, murmuring a few words of gratitude before departing. He stood there and watched her leave, knowing she wouldn’t glance back but unable to make himself look away. The moment the guards closed the doors behind her, he turned and collapsed onto the bed.

For the first time in years, his dreams of his dead wife were not nightmares.

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is _very_ different from what I’m used to writing! Not sure if that’s a good or bad thing yet, but I suppose you can be the judge. Please be a dear and let me know your thoughts below! Comments truly get me through the day and excited to write. :)
> 
> PS - This is my first real d/s-ish fic, so if I missed some tags, give me a shout! I’m new to this realm and making it up as I go.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading.


End file.
